A Man's Drink
by Cookie6
Summary: No way was it a prank war, Sam was just trying to make a point...


A/N: This is my Prank Wars Challenge entry from over at UnGen. The challenge was to write a fic to celebrate April Fools Day with a max word count of 4108 words (04-01-08...get it?!) It was a blast to write and an even bigger blast to read everyone's awesome entries. Hope you get a giggle as well as a dose of bro bond to feed the addiction you share with me!

As usual, Kripke and Co own the boys, just like to play with them every now and then.

Unbeta-ed...all my treasured beta's were my competition and I was theirs!! So...any typos and errors have snuck past me and are all mine.

A Man's Drink

By Cookie6

"Man!" Sam Winchester growled his exasperation, dropping his head forward with a slight shake. With one hand holding the little fridge wide open and the other hand shaking the empty carton, he turned to the open door facing the car park from their latest el-cheapo motel room.

"DEAN!" he hollered.

Within seconds his brother came skidding into the room, his face alert with worry, sharp eyes zooming to Sam and then scanning the entire room in one sweep.

Seeing nothing, he demanded "What!?" his right arm appearing from behind his back, empty-handed, his scan having revealed no need to draw his weapon.

"That's the third time this week, Dean." Frustration whined in Sam's voice as he threw the carton into the trash can in an exaggerated slam dunk.

"What?' Dean asked again, eyebrows and hands rising in question.

Sam pointed to the trash can, arm outstretched.

"Why do you have to touch my stuff?

Dean's eyes followed Sam's finger and he turned back to his little brother, green eyes flashing in annoyance.

"How many times you want me to say 'what' Sam?' He rocked back on his heels and waited for the long winded explanation he knew was coming. He wasn't disappointed.

Sam continued to point, jabbing the air a few times.

"Why do you have to drink all my iced-coffee? You know I save some for later and I look forward to it. And what's with putting the empty carton back anyway, Dean? If you snake it, least you can do is put the empty carton in the trash! Or how about telling me? I don't mind you drinking it, it's the sneaking behind my back I hate…"

Seeing Sam on a roll, Dean put both hands up to halt his tirade.

"Whoa, Dude, why would I touch your pansy coffee?"

To make his point Dean leaned over and removed the offending carton from the trash and read from the label "Low fat, half strength, no added sugar…Are you serious? And it's _iced_." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "This is chick's coffee, your style Francis, not mine."

With a flick of his wrist the carton was returned to the trash.

"Hot, high octane, straight heart starter for me, Sammy." Dean smirked as he ran his eyes up and down Sam's tall frame. "A man's drink."

Sam huffed and closed his mouth, his lips set in a tight line. He took a deep breath and let logic and fact battle for him. Dean couldn't argue with logic and fact.

"Who else, Dean? It's just you and me, and I know it wasn't me." Sam stood back and let that revealing accusation make his point.

Without missing a beat Dean grinned, "Like in an elevator?"

"What?

"You know, when there's only two of you and…"

"Dean! I know what you mean! Quit being gross. And stop changing the subject!" Sam slammed the fridge door with a shove that rattled the ancient appliance. Dean looked surprised at his little brother's show of temper.

He could see Sam settling in for the long haul, ready to back up his argument with whatever "facts" his logical brain could dig up. Cutting the discussion short with a dismissive wave of his hand he said firmly, "Dude, I didn't touch your _iced_-coffee. You must have drunk it yourself and can't remember."

"No way, it was you, I know it was you! Don't throw this back onto me!" Sam was beyond frustration now, anger simmering that his brother had dared to turn the tables.

"Whatever…" Dean said nonchalantly, then watched as Sam's blood pressure climbed a notch before he turned to leave the room, leaving Sam standing in stunned surprise.

He stopped at the door and turned back. "I'm gonna go get dinner, want anything while I'm out?"

Without waiting for Sam's reply, Dean allowed a blank look to settle on his face before he added, "What about an iced-coffee? You must be getting low…"

Dean bolted out the door as Sam took the couple of giant strides that were all he needed to cross the room.

Sam's expletive and "I KNOW it was you!" followed him all the way to the Impala. Grinning, Dean selected a tape and slid it into the cars stereo. He wound down his window and cranked up the volume for maximum effect.

Sam's face in the rear vision mirror as he caught the strains to AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds" was well worth the effort of driving so slowly past their room.

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Sam had just finished drying himself off after his early morning shower and was wrapping the towel low around his hips when the door burst open and Dean plunged into the steam filled room with a growl and a shout. "Sonova…"

Gagging and spluttering he made a bee line for the sink. Turning the cold tap on full force he bent low, cupping his hands under the water. "Ugh!" He scooped a huge handful of water into his mouth, noisily rinsed, gargled and spat it out, only to repeat the cycle half a dozen more times in quick succession.

"Ugh, guh…" he choked between gargles. "Yuck!' He rinsed and spat once more before he reached for a towel and spun around to glare at Sam.

"I'm gonna be burping bubbles for a week, you freak!"

Sam's boyish grin was huge as he watched his big brother being very uncool, retching and gargling.

Dean rubbed his face dry before turning to spit into the sink once more. "Ugh, disgusting, revolting…" he lifted his eyes to Sam, whose grin faltered at the look of pure anger on Dean's face. If looks could kill... When that look of anger gave way to disgust once more and Dean turned for yet another spit in the sink, Sam's grin returned brighter than ever.

Tossing his towel onto the floor, Dean narrowed his eyes and stabbed the air near Sam's chest with his finger as he accused "You set me up!"

"No, Dean, I proved a point." Sam replied calmly and smugly.

Dean huffed and wrinkled his face, before swallowing with obvious disgust. "That's pretty low, Sam. Washing up detergent in the coffee? Come on!"

Sam pushed past Dean and made his way to his bed. Rummaging through his duffel in search of clean clothes he spoke without looking up. "I knew it was you, Dean." He pulled on boxers and jeans and turned to face his seething brother. "You have been drinking my iced-coffee and lying about it. You're just mad cos you got caught."

Dean's annoyance spiked at the self-righteous tone of Sam's voice. Striving for calm he leaned into the doorframe and dropped the timbre of his voice to just a tad above menace. "You wanna play games, Sammy, that it?"

Sam stopped rummaging for his shirt and straightened to face his brother. "No, Dean, I am so not starting a prank war. Just wanted to prove a point, which I did," he added smugly.

"You think I should just take that on the chin? It was pretty low," he baited, throwing out the line.

Sure as eggs, Sam grabbed the hook. "I think you should admit it was you."

"Oh, I aint admitting anything. I'm just saying detergent in a drink is pretty dirty."

The incredulous look on Sam's face was priceless. His jaw dropped as his eyebrows shot up into his shaggy hair. "No way, Man. I caught you with your pants down, Dean, caught you red-handed!"

Dean scoffed and pushed himself off the doorframe with his shoulder. "You'll never catch me with my pants anywhere and I never said I didn't touch your coffee just this once…"

Sam spluttered his disbelief. "So it's starting again? I told you before, once this starts, it always escalates…"

"Yeah, but think back Sammy," Dean spun one of the kitchen chairs round to straddle it. "Who always wins? And who always begs for a truce? I out-punk you, always have."

Sam reacted to that cocky half smile with an instant denial. "That is so not true! Remind me again how to get a glued beer bottle off my hand?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Second place is first place loser Sammy."

Sam narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "Whatever you say, Bubble-Boy."

This time it was Dean who rose to the bait. He swung a leg off the chair, sending it crashing noisily to the floor. "You are so outta your depth, Geek-Boy!" Dean warned, stepping forward to meet Sam face to face.

"So it _is_ starting? Sam demanded, staring with equal antagonism.

Dean watched Sam stand his ground and remembered the same expression on his eleven year old face. Sam hadn't noticed that all his pencils were pink until he'd opened his bag at school the next day. In his anger to confront Dean, he didn't remember it being payback for telling Amy Parkinson that Dean loved her. He only remembered his embarrassment at having to write in pink all day.

A little smile softened Dean's face and his anger subsided as he stared at exactly the same angry eyes, exactly the same indignation. "Oh Sam," he chided, humor in his voice, "I don't get mad, I get even."

Sam spread his hands wide. "This is _not_ a prank war, Dean, but if you want one, bring it on!" He stared for a second longer, then turned back to his duffle.

Dean opened his mouth to retaliate with a stinging rebuke, but what came out instead was a loud hiccup and a gasp followed by "Aw, gross!" He whipped his hand to his grimacing mouth. "UGH! I gotta brush my teeth!!"

"Watch the date, Dude, scarier than a full moon this coming month!" Dean shot over his shoulder as he stomped into the bathroom. He slammed the door, leaving Sam more than a little worried that he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

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Sam opened his eyes to the feeling that something wasn't quite right and it niggled at him, jarring him wider awake. Trying to remember if he'd had a nightmare he lay still and waited for the feeling to abate.

It didn't.

He turned his head to look at Dean. As he stared at the empty bed, Dean's words from the night before drifted into his head_ "I don't get mad, I get even."_ Sam sat bolt upright as a feeling of foreboding flowed across him.

Prank wars weren't exactly new territory. Memories of a lifetime of pranks stole through his mind. As they replayed in his head Sam's frown changed and a slow secret smile crept across his features. A clever thought suddenly hit him. Yep, he knew all Dean's pranks. _All of them._ The clever ones, the rude, the lame, the one's that bordered on dangerous, even the one's that didn't work. Sam's brain went into overdrive. If he could remember them, then he could watch out for them. He would outsmart his brother by avoiding the pranks. Suddenly the day looked brighter.

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Shuffling into the bathroom, Sam lifted the toilet lid. Half asleep, and just about to pee, he suddenly froze. His eyes darted to the bowl. He bent slightly and saw nothing but stained porcelain and water. But he remembered what happened when he was fifteen and Dean had tightly stretched a film of plastic wrap across the bowl under the seat, making it invisible to the unwary. Sam had a mess to clean up - and Dean had laughed hysterically the whole time he was mopping. Sam waved his hand just inside the bowl to double check. Nothing but air. One dimple showed itself. No worries, free to go.

Yep, this was gunna be too easy.

Sliding under the steaming shower, Sam reached for the shampoo bottle and flipped the lid with his thumb. Then instantly froze. _'Uh oh, classic Dean'._ Sam sniffled the bottle. Not convinced he could smell only shampoo, he tipped a tiny bit into his palm. Didn't look any different, but what the hell did Nair look like anyway? He dipped his finger into the milky blob and swirled. No streaks of anything. Still not convinced Sam smeared a little onto his forearm and waited a minute. Rinsing it off, he inspected his skin closely. Okay, no bald patch. Watching the water run off the little hairs, Sam grinned. Squeezing a generous amount of shampoo into his hand, he lathered his hair. But rinsed it out quickly – just in case.

Grabbing the soap, Sam started to rub it over his chest. _Wait!_ Raising the bar to his nose, he smelled that too. Good, no grandma-lavender or girlfriend-vanilla. He'd gone to school smelling like roses at eleven thanks to Dean. _Wasn't that the same week he switched all my school pencils for pink?_

Another alarming thought crossed Sam's mind. Keeping his eyes firmly on the door lock for any sign of lock picking, he finished his shower in record time. No way was he going to make himself a sitting duck, trapped in this tiny cubicle waiting for Dean to come bowling in with a jug of iced-water. He'd been victim of that at eight….and again in Junior High when privacy really mattered….and after Stanford. Definitely a Dean favourite.

Drying off, he grabbed his toothbrush. He twisted the lid off the toothpaste and squeezed some…_stop!..._ onto his finger. White, no foreign bits courtesy of Dean. He still cringed with the memory of squeezing a dead spider out onto his toothbrush at twelve. If reacting with fright to seeing the spider hadn't been bad enough, Dean had paid out big time on his loud girly squeal. Even Dad had grinned at that one. Sam was still trying to see the funny side of that prank.

Opening the bathroom door Sam peered out. No Dean. The coast was clear.

His clothes were still on the chair where he had left them last night. Just the thought of Richardson, Texas, made Sam itch. He'd never admit it, but Dean had got him good with that one. He shook his boxers vigorously. No itching powder residue. He ran his hand over them and rubbed his middle finger and thumb together inspecting them carefully. Nothing. He really didn't want to smell them, but the other option was itching like mad and scratching in public. Not a good look. No unusual smell greeted Sam's nose.

By the time Sam was dressed his confident smile had slipped and he was feeling a little edgy.

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Walking into the bright sunshine, Sam scanned the carpark. He spotted Dean on the grassed area washing his baby. His jeans and tee were drenched and he wore a happy smile.

"Mornin' Sammy. Man, she's beautiful when she shines!"

Sam walked over but stopped short at the sight of a garden hose in Dean's hand, complete with trigger nozzle. Dean - locked and loaded. Sam stared at the hose and tried to calculate its reach. Nervous eyes flicked between Dean's trigger finger and his smiling face. Sam got ready to run as his brother's finger twitched.

Dean squeezed and gave his car a final rinse off. Sam's shoulders relaxed a little.

"Just finish her off and we'll go get breakfast," Dean called, "Get my wallet and lock up, will ya."

Sam used the knife from his boot to flip Dean's wallet off the table and turn it over a couple of times before he picked it up. He had no idea what booby trap Dean could have left for him in a wallet, but the man was ingenious when he wanted to be and Sam was taking no chances.

He had officially gone from on edge to real nerves.

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Sam folded his lanky frame into the Impala and looked suspiciously about him. He felt safe here cos he knew Dean would never do anything to risk his car, but Sam was well aware of two things. One, his brother had been out here – alone – for hours and, two, Sam had set Dean up in the Impala himself. Every dial or switch that could be turned on or up, Sam had sabotaged. Dean had accused him of being weak but had still jumped out of his skin and Sam had rubbed it in by being a wiseass. Yes, the Impala was definitely a prank waiting to happen.

Then Sam remembered. His eyes flew to the door and window handles. Without making himself obvious, he reached out and traced a finger along the handles. No petroleum jelly coating. He sighed his relief. If Dean noticed, he ignored it. Sam remembered being trapped in this car because he couldn't get a grip on the slippery handles. He remembered clambering his sixteen year old gangly body over to the back seat to get out. He remembered yelling his frustration and swearing a lot. He remembered his embarrassment because it had been at school and Dean had pulled up right next to the senior cheerleaders practice.

The ride to the diner was very quiet and Sam made sure he touched nothing.

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Sam fidgeted in his seat. He was busting for the bathroom but there was absolutely no way he was going to leave Dean alone with a whole diner to play with. They had ordered and Dean was discussing plans for their next hunt. He was kicking back, not an uptight bone in his body. Sam fidgeted some more, both his nerves and his bladder screaming at him.

When he could wait no longer, he excused himself giving Dean his best I'm-your-baby-brother-watch-out-for-me look. Surely that would trigger his protective streak.

It was the fastest bathroom break ever. Sam emerged drying his hands on his jeans not risking the extra time paper towels would have cost him. He could see Dean through the window, talking on his cell.

Sam slid into the booth and checked the sugar. Lid on tight. Not like when he was ten and the whole lot ended up on his cereal, tipping the whole bowl onto his lap when he jumped. He shook a little into his hand and dipped his tongue into it. Good, no salt taste. Not like when he was eighteen and added two spoons of salt to his latte.

Paranoia setting in he checked the ketchup. No bubble gum squashed into the cap causing it to erupt like a red volcano all over his face when it was squeezed extra hard. Like it did when he was thirteen.

Dean returned as their breakfast arrived. When the waitress offered Sam maple syrup, he eyed the jug with suspicion and politely declined. If Dean thought it odd that he ate his short stack dry, despite his insane sweet tooth, he didn't say anything.

The silence and peace was driving Sam nuts.

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As the week wore on Sam's patience and resilience wore down.

When Dean suggested a lazy afternoon cleaning guns, Sam blanched. He remembered being covered in oil and rock salt when Dean had rigged their weapons bag.

The strategically placed plastic bag had exploded all over him when he wrenched on the stuck zipper. In his eyes and up his nose. The salt stung and the oil made sure it stuck. Sam had flung his twenty-two year old self into the shower, clothes and all.

No, Dean would be cleaning weapons by himself this week.

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A trip to the supermarket was out of the question. When Dean had faked temporary blindness in the fruit and vege aisle and made out that Sam had deserted him, Sam had a lot of explaining to do to the women of all ages who came to Dean's rescue with kind words and cuddles for him and dirty looks and scolds for Sam. At fourteen, he hadn't forgiven Dean for weeks.

Low running supplies weren't enough incentive to get Sam grocery shopping this week.

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Sam thought about doing the laundry but remembered how Dean had convinced him at ten that a drier-spirit sucked little boys in and spun dry them 'til they shrunk. The Ken doll spinning around behind the glass window, and the screaming 'mom' Dean had charmed into playing along, was enough to send Sam screaming to Dad. Even John had been upset that Dean had gone too far.

Smelly socks wouldn't get Sam near a drier this week.

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By the end of the week, Sam was a nervous wreck.

Sitting in the diner waiting for the coffees Dean had ordered, Sam was twitchy and restless. His body was rigid and his left leg tapped continually under the table. His eyes darted to Dean to try to get a read on him, but he had his 'do not enter' face on and Sam was sick of looking at it. His impatience ramped up and he unconsciously advertised it by drumming his fingers on the table.

On the contrary, Dean was relaxed as he leaned back, one arm slung casually along the backrest of the bench seat. His green eyes resting on Sam were calm.

Dean was driving him crazy.

The waitress bought their coffees over with a smile. Dean smiled back with a breezy "Thanks Sweetheart."

Gob-smacked, Sam glared at the drink in front of him. Swiveling his eyes back and forth between Dean's steaming black, pungent brew and his tall glass of iced-coffee complete with cream top and straw, Sam all but exploded.

"Just do it already! Get it over with!"

Dean's eyebrows rose in query and Sam rushed on.

"Whatever it is ya gunna do, just do it! I don't care! I just can't stand waiting anymore!' He held his hands up in mock surrender.

Dean leaned forward and kept his voice calm. "Do what, Sammy?"

For a minute Sam was speechless, exasperation disconnecting his brain and his mouth.

"You know what I'm talking about! Look at these damn coffees for Gods sake?"

Dean lounged back again and shrugged.

Sam flattened his hands on the table and leaned forward. He became deadly serious. Deadpan hazel eyes locked with amused green ones.

"You're driving me mad, Dean. You start a prank war and do nothing!"

"Oh, Sammy I didn't start anything. And I didn't say I was gunna finish it either." Dean watched closely to see how that bit of intel was going to go down.

Yep, here it comes. He watched Sam's brain mull it over for 2.4 seconds and…

"What? It was _you_ who said don't get mad, get even, Dean."

"I did."

"It was _you_ who said I was outta my depth."

"You are."

"It was you who said…"

"What Sammy?"

Sam stopped and stared at Dean. His lips parted slightly as his brows drew together.

Dean waited out the silence. He watched Sam as he dug deep into his memories. Dean saw the instant Sam found what he was searching for. Hazel eyes deepened and widened.

Dean nodded. "Talked yourself right into it. Gotta say, Dude, I've had the best fun. Watching you hang ya'self all week." Dean threw his head back and laughed an easy laugh.

"Should'a seen ya, Sammy, all paranoid and skittish. Checkin' out the shampoo and soap every day like you did! Talk about thorough. Dad would'a been proud! And Dude, staring into the toilet _every_ time!" Dean slapped his hand on the table with his laughter.

Sam glared, "You made me think…"

"No way Man, did it all yourself. And I saw you feeling up the Impala every time you got in! Scared you wouldn't get out, hey?"

Dean was in real danger of hiccups he laughed so much.

"And gotta tell ya, watching you eat those dry pancakes!? Truly a highlight of my week! How the heck you swallowed 'em is a miracle!"

Dean picked up his coffee and took a long mouthful. "And now, can we please get some shopping and laundry done?"

Sam scowled and picked up his iced-coffee. "You're rotten to the core, you know that?" he asked his smirking brother, "Glad you think it's funny cos I've had a crap week."

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Sam's throat constrict in a swallow. Instantly Sam gagged and spat his iced-coffee out, spraying it all over the table and down the front of his jacket. Drops of cream and coffee covered his face. He looked at Dean in utter disbelief.

Dean cut his eyes to the display on the wall above the counter. Sam's eyes automatically followed. He read the date and time. April 1, 11.58am. Dean's smile grew wider as his eyes shifted to the pretty waitress watching them with a dazzling smile. She winked at Dean and blew a kiss to Sam as she replaced the bottle of detergent on the shelf above her head.

:- end :-

Thanks for reading, extra special thanks for your review.


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